“Why not?”
“Because I never told her.”
“Why not?” she repeats.
I don’t even know where to start. What I do say surprises me. “Have Uncle Joe and Aunt Molly always been so…” I’m not sure how to put it. I try again. “Or with Leo and Mia, have they always been…”
“Have they always treated Mia like a second-class citizen?” Mom offers.
“Yeah,” I say.
She thinks about it. “I think they unfairly held Mia up to Leo’s standards, yes. They’ve always been successful in different ways. Mia and Leo are both hyper-intelligent. They’ve always been. But your father and I were always there to temper Molly and Joe’s… behavior towards Mia. But I think once they started college and started building their lives, and your father and I couldn’t do that anymore, and Molly and Joe started to define success as financial… well, their treatment of Mia started becoming more obvious.”
“Were Leo and I the same way to her?” I ask quietly, because I’m afraid to know the answer.
“I think Leo has always tried his best to ignore it. I’m not saying that was right, but I understand. What was he supposed to do? At seven years old? It probably became more and more of a habit the older he got.”
I hum.
“You, on the other hand, have spent your entire life defending that girl.”
I am silent.
“I remember one time around Christmas, when you were maybe ten or eleven. Both of the families were together, and Mia was talking about what she wanted for Christmas. She wanted to readThe Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. The adults, including me, I have to admit, were dying laughing, because there was no way an eight-year-old could read that book. I remember she was upset, but I remember the look on your face more. You were outraged. And you said something like, ‘Mia is the smartest kid I know. If she says she can read the book, then she can read the book.’ You told everyone in that damn room.”
I remember this, and I remember what happened next.
“You made me take you to the bookstore before Christmas, and you used your own allowance to get her that book. It’s a huge book, too, so it was pretty expensive, and I remember you used a considerable amount of your allowance. Elias, when you gave her that gift on Christmas… I’ll never forget the look on both of your faces. She looked at you like you were her hero. You looked at her like… I don’t know how to describe it. It was fiercely happy. Proud. It was possessive. I knew you’d spend your entire life trying to keep that look on her face. And you did, and you have.”
I need to sit down. I find a random park bench somewhere in Prospect Heights, and I sink down. I blow out a breath.
“What happened?”
“I love her, Mom,” I admit, to her and myself and to everyone walking around Brooklyn.
“Well, obviously,” she says impatiently, totally killing my dramatic reveal. “Did I not just tell you that? Honestly, I’m surprised it took so long for you to realize it.”
I suddenly feel like crying.
“Is she finally your girlfriend now? I’ve been waiting forever for this,” she tells me.
“No.”
“Why not?” she demands to know.
“I guess… we were kind of together, maybe? For a little. But then I freaked out and… ended it. Poorly.”
“Why’d you freak out? What’s there to freak out about? Don’t you love her?”
“It’s not that easy,” I manage.
“What do you mean? You love her. I know she loves you. She still looks at you like you’re her entire universe. How hard can it be?”
“I fucked up.”
“So fix it. Tell her you love her.”
“I think it’s too late for that.”
